Death is but the Next Great Adventure

Visions & Horcruxes, What More Could a Boy Ask For?

In the last chapter: Harry and Philias make an Unbreakable Vow and Harry convinces Phil to deliver the stone to Voldemort after showing Phil he is invulnerable by . . . well, by dying. Phil takes the stone to Voldemort and is accepted into their little band of Death Eaters for the time being. Voldemort now has the Philosopher Stone and Phil is working undercover for Harry.

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A week after Harry gave Voldemort the Philosopher Stone, the teen sent a letter to his informant, Philias. According to the letter he received the next day, nothing really definitive had happened yet. Voldemort didn't call on Philias often, but the few fleeting times he had, Philias had caught wind of him sending Barty Crouch Jr. to the Ministry several times while under polyjuice potion as different Ministry employees. The Auror didn't know the details, but he did know that Voldemort was trying to do something that involved their government.

When Philias met with Voldemort, mostly the Dark Lord would have long conversations with him about the state of the Ministry and general public—since the other two Death Eaters had spent their time either in Azkaban or in hiding. He also seemed to be testing Philias to see where his own sympathies lie. Harry was mildly concerned when Green said that he had been relatively honest with the Dark Lord about things less sensitive (unlike blood purity and muggles, which would be big no-no's with a red slash through them on the list of things safe to talk about) but Philias insisted that Voldemort was alright as long as he didn't sound like he'd turned light and nothing suggested that Philias planned on getting in the way of any of his plans.

After that, Harry continued to contact Philias Green weekly to keep updated on his plans. During that time, Harry threw himself back into studying Death's book and learning Necromancy. The spells and rituals grew more complex and Harry had to push through his own limitations many times in order to wield his magic with the accuracy of an adult. Never before had it been so important or dangerous for him to have control over his magic so that he didn't over or under power a spell. And never had it felt so amazing to do magic.

If he had to put it into words, he would describe it as being a flightless bird all his life and then one day suddenly being able to soar above the sky. The magic wasn't addicting or harmful to him, it was more like stepping into a warm bath after a long day or having sore muscles rubbed into utter relaxation—not something he needed to feel, but something he very much wanted to feel.

Harry didn't get as much time to himself to learn, though. That summer, the Malfoys had decided not to go on vacation because Lucius' work had become quite busy in the warming months. This meant that not only was Harry getting visits from Anthony and Hermione, but also Draco, who was quite headstrong in his need to spend time with Harry—which usually meant either flying around on brooms in the wide expanse of grass behind Malfoy Manor, or going from shop to shop so that Draco could satiate his hunger for material things.

Harry enjoyed every moment he spent with his friends, but between his secret life with trying to save Voldemort and his busy public life with his friends and family, things were becoming hectic.

Which only got crazier when, during the third week of July, Harry had a dream that was anything but a dream.

Harry didn't dream often, but when he did it was usually either of the ethereal scenes he'd glimpsed of the afterlife or memories coated in the foggy haze of unconsciousness. So, when Harry emerged from the darkness of slumber to being seated before a kneeling man with shaggy auburn hair, beady dark eyes, and a tick where his tongue darted between his teeth for a brief moment to leave his bottom lip shining with saliva, he knew to be concerned.

His worry and confusion only grew when he realized he could no longer control his body. A passenger behind eyes that weren't his. Before his lethargic mind could piece together where he was—who he was—his mouth was already forming words in a voice that stopped all of his thoughts at once.